


Leather and Iron

by RockyMountainRattlesnake



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Battle of the Atlantic, Gen, Historical, How Nine got his leather jacket, Leather Jackets, Nazis, Pre-Episode: s01e01 Rose, U-boat, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22231609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockyMountainRattlesnake/pseuds/RockyMountainRattlesnake
Summary: Ever wonder where Nine got his jacket?On a sinking U-boat, the Doctor encounters a desperate human crew in need of assistance. Things don’t go according to plan.Set pre-Rose.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Leather and Iron

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Wy for giving this a look over! I spent a lot of time on this one, and I hope you all like it.
> 
> Title is a play on a phrase popularly attributed to Bismarck: 'Blood and Iron." (Although when he wrote it the first time, it was 'Iron and Blood.')

The TARDIS stopped shuddering, and the Doctor sighed up at the Time Rotor.

“Please. Not another war, alright? Please. I just need- I don’t know. No more death. No more.”

He turned and looked down at himself. Regeneration hadn’t been kind this time around, and he’d found himself dressing without a single ounce of his usual exuberance. A simple maroon jumper, black trousers, black boots…black on black on dark. Perfectly reflecting how he felt.

The Doctor ambled towards the TARDIS doors, taking a deep breath. His ship was humming contentedly- he’d hit the randomizer button, having made up his mind that if it was a war he was turning around and leaving. No more wars. Never again. No more senseless death. He couldn’t stand it.

He opened the door and stepped out into ankle-deep seawater. Bunks and meat hanging from ropes surrounded him, the entire structure listing off to the side slightly. As he stood there, the whole construction shuddered violently.

The Doctor sighed, looking around. Alarms were blaring, and people were shouting in terror somewhere up ahead. Clearly not a spaceship. The seawater smelled Earthlike- so, a boat somewhere and somewhen on Earth.

“Not the bloody Titanic again,” he muttered, turning to look at one of the pipes- ACHTUNG HEISS was written on the side, and he followed it down the hall towards the source of all the yelling. So maybe not the Titanic, then. German? Something German? What year was it, anyhow?

The oblong round-cornered door to the control room was open, and the Doctor stepped through it and instantly got his answer.

A dozen men were scurrying frantically around the cramped and dimly-lit bridge. They wore dark blue uniforms, some of which clinked with medals- one man in a white peaked cap and black leather jacket was yelling orders at his crew without pausing for breath. Nobody had noticed him yet, and the Doctor took the opportunity to scan over the bridge itself. Early 20th century technology by the look of it- and that there was the bottom of a periscope. A submarine, then, and a GERMAN submarine at that.

He was on a U-boat in the middle of World War Two.

“WE’RE TAKING ON WATER!” one of the men was shouting in German from whatever station he was at, and the Doctor internally groaned and looked back at the slowly-rising water in the hall.

Correction: he was on a SINKING U-boat in the middle of World War Two.

He should turn around and leave. The crew was scrambling to save their doomed sub- water was rushing in, pooling around his ankles, and he should really just leave them to their fate. It was war, and the Allies had sunk another one of their enemy’s hated submarines. The Doctor could sympathize all too well with the desire to wipe the enemy’s superweapons away.

He blinked away the visions of burning skies and Daleks and took a deep breath. These people were humans, not Daleks. They had families back home in Germany- families that deserved bodies to bury.

And dying on a sinking submarine was one of the worst ways for a human being to go. Drowning if you were lucky, lungs screaming for air but every desperate gasp sucking down cold cruel seawater instead…

Trapped in the pitch-dark as the water rose up your body, ice-cold and stained with oil and blood, pinned by your life jacket against the ceiling in a slowly shrinking air pocket, gasping your last as the water finally swirled over your head in the blackness, entombed in cold iron…no body to bury, the vilest monsters of the deep coming to gnaw on your bones.

It was a horrible, horrible way to die, and the Doctor wouldn’t have wished it on _anyone._

The swastika on the wall vanished from his view. It didn’t matter.

He should leave them to their fate.

**He wasn’t going to.**

It took a surprisingly long time for anyone to notice the strange man leaning against the bulkhead door, watching them scurry about like ants. A young man with a soaked uniform, lacking any chevrons or patches, looked up at the Doctor. Brownish-blond hair, unscarred and unblemished. A young man, just getting started. Blue eyes locked onto blue, and the young man’s whole posture went rigid with shock. 

“Who- CAPTAIN!” he yelled, “CAPTAIN, WE’VE GOT A- THERE’S- STOWAWAY!”

Everyone on the bridge whipped their heads around to look at the Doctor, who just smiled and gave a little wave.

“Hullo!” he said cheerfully, slipping into German, “I’m the Doctor. Rough day, yeah?”

Instantly a dozen pistols were pointed at his face, a chorus of cocking actions ringing out through the cramped control room.

The Doctor smiled.

How quaint.

The entire ship juddered violently again, and several men dropped their guns to scrabble about with their screens, the Doctor still smiling sweetly.

“So, what’s the situation then?” he asked, “Sinking, got that bit. Engines?”

“All dead. Who are you?!” the man in the white hat spat, “What do you want!?”

The Doctor looked around, lifting his foot and putting it back down in the rising water.

“Well, considering the shape of this place, I suppose you could say I’m your lift out of here. If you want it, of course.”

Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at him. All the guns were dropped, anyone with their back to him turned and faced him- the whole room was silent but for the blaring alarms and the rushing water.

“You- you can get us out?! How? We’re two hundred feet below the surface! There’s warships above dropping depth charges- we don’t- how?!” White Cap spluttered, and the Doctor jerked his head down the hall.

“Tell you what, get all your men together and meet me up there. And do try to hurry it up, I’m not sure how much longer this bathtub’s going to hold together and I didn’t pack me snorkel.”

He turned away and spared a glance back. Everyone had, as he’d expected, stopped moving.

“Well?” he said, “D’you want to get out of here or not? Go get all your men together, we don’t have all bloody day!”

He stomped off down the hall, listening to the men yelling behind him- someone sprinted as best they could in pursuit, boots splashing in the water with long strides. The Doctor stopped by the front of his TARDIS, pushing the door open slightly and smiling at the young man behind him- the same one he’d noticed.

The young man looked the TARDIS up and down, eyes scanning over the writing and bugging out.

“English- is that English!?” he spluttered, “It’s- you’re- this box is English!”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just got English writing on it. I stole it. You want a lift or not?” the Doctor said, stepping inside and striding up to the console.

The young man pushed the door open a second later and stepped inside, eyes going wide. He spun around, gaping at the coral columns and the main console, at the Doctor, at everything-

“You- this-it’s bigger on the-“ he swallowed, “What is this place?!”

“S’my ship,” the Doctor replied evenly, “I’m the Doctor, by the way. Pleased to meet you. And you are?”

“Vogel,” the man said, “I’m- _Matrose_ Vogel. I- You’ll get us out of here?!” he turned to the Doctor with wide eyes, “You’ll get us all out of here?!”

The Doctor nodded.

Vogel looked at him, and then at the console, and then at the door. He turned back to it- and froze.

“I don’t know how you got on board. I don’t know how you’re going to get this _thing_ out of here. But please- please don’t leave us. Please. Please, I don’t- I don’t want to die,” Vogel pleaded, his voice cracking. And the Doctor’s hearts cracked a little with it- he was only a kid, no older than sixteen.

The Doctor nodded and leaned back. “I’m not going anywhere without you. Get the rest of the crew and get them in here, got that?”

Vogel nodded and ran out of the TARDIS.

The Doctor turned back to the console, mentally asking the TARDIS not to give these men the gift of translation or anything else. He was already breaking the rules by giving them a lift off their doomed sub in the first place, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with any other nonsense. The timelines around the crew were all in flux, the largest branch – where they all died- starting to sputter out. These men wouldn’t change history if they lived or died, but…

It felt good to help, for a change. To be the Doctor again, and not the destroyer of worlds. These men would live, thanks to him. Nazis or not, _nobody_ deserved to die on a sinking submarine.

He shuddered at the thought and started adjusting the settings. Yeah, he’d give this lot a lift, but the question of where to lift them TO was still floating around the Doctor’s mind. Germany, probably- only fair, right? Although…

Whatever. Vortex first, and then he’d figure it out from there.

The door opened again, and Vogel’s voice rang out like a bell.

“Doktor! They’re coming, sorry- we had- I wanted to grab-“ he held up a waterlogged duffel bag and single photograph of some humans in black and white- his family, presumably. The Doctor smiled and nodded.

“Fair enough. Everyone else on their way? Don’t fancy anyone’s chances out there. Now, where exactly d’you want me to take you lot-“ he started, and Vogel had the ‘D’ of ‘Deutschland’ on his lips, when the door slammed open again.

The men who’d been in the control room came pouring through, both doors swinging wide open- and through them, the Doctor could see the man in the white hat standing shin-deep in seawater, squinting at the sign printed on the TARDIS.

He shook off his daze a second later, lumbering into the timeship- the Doctor was momentarily grateful for the shields, because the water was rising and the last thing he needed was his console room getting swamped with seawater.

“That everyone, then? Anyone missing?” he asked Vogel, who was busy doing a headcount. The young man turned and nodded, and the Doctor scanned over the twenty-odd men standing around gawking at his ship.

“Right! That’s your lotz.” He yanked the lever to send them into the vortex, laughing as the TARDIS lurched and spun off. She sang for joy in his mind, a song that he returned- it felt so good to be doing something to help, to save, to preserve life instead of snuff it out.

He stood up once the shaking had stopped, turning to a wide-eyed (and slightly bruised, the kid was picking himself off the grating with a groan) Vogel.

“Now, then. What year and month was it, when I picked you up?”

“1940. July.” Vogel replied with confusion on his face, and the Doctor nodded and adjusted the knobs and dials. Now, the location…Earth, obviously, but where exactly? Germany, probably…

Behind him, someone cleared their throat, and the Doctor glanced up.

The man in the white hat shoved Vogel out of the way to stand closer to the Doctor. Close up, the man’s age was obvious- late fifties, with white patches on either side of his blonde hair. Piercing green eyes locked onto the Doctor’s, and he offered his hand.

“Hirth.” He said, “Captain Hirth. You said your name was…Doktor, yes?”

“Yeah. Nice to meet you.” The Doctor didn’t take his hand- this bloke was in charge, unlike Vogel, and he wasn’t in the mood to make friendly with Nazi command, ta.

Hirth frowned and let his hand drop, looking around.

“How many days will it take us to reach Germany?” the captain then asked, looking around, “I assume your engines are…underneath, yes?”

“Engines? Need-to-know, I’m afraid. An’ Germany? Eh, ten minutes, tops. Probably closer to three. Why, you in a hurry or somethin’?”

Hirth- and Vogel, and every other man in the console room, for that matter- stared at the Doctor in shock.

“…A few minutes?” Hirth whispered, awe on his words as he looked around the ship- the Doctor spared a glance around the room, and Vogel was looking at him in awe.

“This is a magnificent vessel indeed,” the captain whispered, a greedy gleam in his eye, “She must be the envy of your fleet. Who is your commanding officer?”

“She **_is_** magnificent, isn’t she?” the Doctor paused, and looked at the man quizzically, “An’ you’re looking at my commanding officer.”

Hirth made an odd noise in the back of his throat.

“No, you misunderstand- who gives your orders? Who sent you?”

The Doctor shrugged, gesturing at himself.

“I sent myself. You needed help. I help people. That’s me job.”

Hirth frowned and put something down on the grating- a box he’d been carrying.

“Very well. I’ll concede that we did need your help. But whose flag does she fly, this ship? Are you with the Allies?” Hirth’s eyes narrowed.

Vogel made a noise of protest, and the captain whipped his head around to glare at the boy, who shrank back a little in fear. He turned back to the Doctor and folded his arms, leather squeaking as he moved.

“Neither, that alright? I’m not with the Allies or the Axis. I’m not on anyone’s side.” the Doctor said. He’d watched Hirth silently pull rank, and it had done very little to impress.

Hirth looked shocked at that, and while he was collecting his thoughts, the Doctor peered down at the box the captain had placed on the floor. The one that was tugging on his time sense like a toddler yanking on his trouser leg. 

It was an Enigma machine. Their U-boat’s Enigma machine, the priceless encryption device that could never be allowed to fall into enemy hands.

Ah.

Okay, well, no matter what he did with the crew, that Enigma machine had to stay with him. German high command had it pencilled in as destroyed with the U-boat, so they couldn’t take it back to Berlin. And if the Allies got their hands on it…the timelines snaking away from THAT possibility were a rat’s nest in the truest sense of the word. Messy and disgusting and soaked in blood and reapers and piss. History wouldn’t take too well to that box ending up in its enemy’s hands a year early.

Actually, the only timeline that didn’t result in all of human history getting hugely derailed was the one where it stayed aboard the TARDIS and took up a space on his knickknack shelf. Which meant convincing Hirth to part with it.

Joy.

“Herr Doktor?” Hirth said, and the Doctor looked up and quirked an eyebrow. He’d reached whatever conclusion he’d been pondering, apparently- standing up straight and putting on his most friendly expression.

“Yes? What?” he glanced over at Vogel, who was shrinking away from his commanding officer.

“This…box, of yours. It’s bigger on the inside than the outside, and you can smuggle it aboard ships without anyone noticing. You could hold a whole battalion in here, and you can get from the coast of _Neufundland_ to Berlin in a matter of moments. You say your ship has no allegiance- She would be the envy of any nation’s fleet, I assure you! When we arrive in Germany, I’d like to introduce you to my superiors. You- the Kreigsmarine would be _unstoppable_ with you and this vessel under her banner!”

The Doctor froze, turning to lock eyes with Hirth. The man was looking rather pleased with himself, smiling politely at the Doctor with an excited sparkle in his eyes. Like he was convinced the Doctor would say yes and be hopping up and down to join Hitler’s cause.

And then the stupid git just _kept talking._

“And, and you- exemplars of the Nordic race such as ourselves must stick together. Wherever it is you come from, you must feel the call of your superior heritage! Your Nordic blood must burn to aid us- whether or not you are German, you surely must feel the Fuhrer’s words as they echo in your soul! You would be richly rewarded a thousand times over, not to mention-“

The Doctor barked out a harsh laugh, watching as Hirth’s face fell, and rolled his eyes.

“’Nordic Blood’? Don’t make me laugh with your mystic racialist horseshit. I’m not part of your imaginary little ‘Nordic race’, and even if I _was,_ I wouldn’t help your Führer and his homicidal death cult if you put a _gun_ to my head. A death cult that’s **currently committing genocide**, by the way. I just figured you lot were in a bit of a jam, an’ dying on a sinking submarine is a hideous way to go. Don’t mistake my altruism for an eagerness to join your twisted little cause, Hirth. I’m not here to help you, I’m here to save your worthless _fucking_ life.” He looked the man in the eyes, as if daring him to argue.

That bit of boundless human stupidity rather changed things. Hearing the Dalek party line coming out a human’s mouth left him shaking in barely-contained rage. The Doctor started tapping in the coordinates- he knew EXACTLY where to dump this smug bastard Hirth. _Right behind enemy lines._ After all, Russia was just lovely this time of year-

And then he noticed Vogel, again, and his eyes fell on the console.

A kid.

He swallowed. A sixteen-year-old human kid. With his whole life ahead of him, and boundless opportunity to outgrow this horrible ideology and change into a new person. Was he really going to send this kid to his death in the middle of Russia? Was he?

No.

The Doctor twiddled the controls, tapping in the coordinates, mind leaping to a much better place for this lot. Just the right place for a literal boatload of Nazis to go. A place they’d be nice and safe, a place which would be punishment enough. A place where they wouldn’t have to worry about the war, and would also be cursing his name the whole time they were there.

There was a click behind him.

The Doctor straightened up, eyes locked on the time rotor.

The unmistakable click of someone cocking a gun. A gun that was presumably pointed at the back of his head.

“Herr Doktor,” and that was Hirth, sounding unbearably smug, “You say you wouldn’t help us with a gun to your head? Well, now we see how you change your tune.”

“You gotta be _fuckin’_ kidding me,” the Doctor muttered, rolling his eyes.

“I’m afraid that rejecting my offer was your last mistake. I tried to be merciful, to give you a chance to see reason, and you laughed in my face. You’re with the Allies, are you not? This box, that’s English on the outside. _“Police Public Call Box”-_ that’s English. This is an English vessel, yes? So I’m going to offer you a choice. You take us to Germany, you take us to Berlin, and you turn this Bigger-on-the-inside box over to the Fürher so it can win us the war, or I’ll shoot you and do it myself. Your choice… _Inselaffe.”_

“DON’T SHOOT HIM!” Vogel yelled, _“HE JUST SAVED OUR LIVES! **DON’T SHOOT HIM!”** _

Hirth turned his head and glared at Vogel, a dark scowl on his face.

“You keep your mouth shut, Vogel. You’ll get yours for this insubordination, mark my-“

He never got to finish his sentence.

The Doctor whirled around faster than blinking and swept Hirth’s feet out from under him with a single swing of his leg. As the man tumbled towards the floor, the Doctor reached out and seized the front of his leather jacket, yanking him up with near-superhuman speed and slamming a fist into the side of the other man’s head. Bone crunched, Hirth’s nose twisted, and the Doctor pulled back and did it again. Once, twice, three times, and the pistol clattered to the floor someplace far away- Hirth flailed, trying to swing back, and the Doctor dodged each punch easily, a look of mild irritation on his face. Like this U-boat captain was little more than an annoyance, a mosquito nipping at his neck and about as easy to crush.

He released Hirth without bending over, opening his hand and letting the man fall to the grating like a sack of potatoes.

“Anyone else want some?” he asked, scanning over the crew, “Cause I warn you lot, if you kill me, you’ll never, ever leave this ship. Not now, and not ever. But let me know if anyone else wants to lose a few teeth, yeah?”

Silence reigned for a few seconds, only for several of the men standing there to drop whatever they were carrying and pull out their pistols, aiming them squarely at the Doctor.

Ah. Yes. Of course.

“Ungrateful bastards…” he muttered, “You know you haven’t got a prayer of flying my ship, yeah? If you shoot me, you’ll never even figure out how to get the doors unlocked. You’ll be trapped in here until you die.”

“That’s fine,” one of the men growled, taking a step forward, “Seeing as you’ll be landing it in Germany, and then we’ll shoot you. You assaulted the captain, and you’re an Allied spy, after the Enigma-“

“STOP IT!” Vogel yelled, jumping in front of the Doctor, arms spread. He was shaking, eyes wide with terror as he stared down his former friends and crewmates, “STOP! HE’S NOT AN ALLIED SPY! HE JUST _SAVED OUR LIVES!”_

“Vogel,” the man who stepped up growled, “Get out of the way. **That’s an order.”**

Vogel shook his head, shaking like a leaf.

The man who’d stepped forward to take command was about to speak again, but the Doctor wasn’t about to let him finish. He lunged for a lever, slamming it home and sending the ship careening out of the vortex a good deal more violently than normal. Vogel and everyone else toppled over onto the floor, and the Doctor reached out and grabbed the kid before he could crack his skull on the grating. With his remaining hand he kept flying, making damn sure to keep it as violent as possible, jerking it left and right, flinging backstabbing Nazi twats into columns and railings- and one poor bloke got tossed into the coatrack.

“Vogel,” the Doctor grunted, “hold on to somethin’!”

They landed with a bone-shaking THUD, a chorus of groans echoing through the console room as the sailors picked themselves up off the floor. Vogel disentangled himself from the jumpseat where he’d fallen, and the Doctor marched over and scooped up the Enigma machine from where it had hit up against the prone form of Hirth.

“ALRIGHT THEN!” he roared, “You think I’m an Allied spy after this primitive little box, eh? Eh? Think I’m gonna march over to Churchill and hand it over to him and get a pat on the head and a cigar for my trouble? Well how about THIS!”

He threw the closed wooden chest on the floor just past the grating with all his might, the box hitting the ground and shattering into a million pieces. Rotors and wires and cogs flew everywhere, and the shocked crew uncoiled from wherever they’d landed to stare at the mess of broken bits that had formerly been their Enigma machine.

“Still think I’m working for the Allies?” the Doctor said, gesturing at the shattered remnants of the box, “Typical stupid apes…” he folded his arms and surveyed the crew, watching as they all got to their feet.

The Doctor snapped his fingers and pointed at the door, a scowl on his face that could freeze a tsunami in place.

“All of you ungrateful little wank stains can get out of my ship. NOW.”

He watched as the rest of the crew sheepishly shoved their way outside, turning to face the still-prone Hirth. And Vogel, who was still standing a few steps behind him.

“Now captain,” the Doctor said, fury burning in his eyes, “Normally I do this sort of thing for free, you understand. But in light of the fact that you tried to _kill me an’ **steal my ship** ,_ I’m afraid I’m going to have to charge you a fee for my trouble.”

Hirth craned his neck up, groaning- one of his front teeth was missing, and he was looking at the Doctor through a swelling black eye and growing bruises.

“A…fee…?” he groaned, “What…fee…?”

The Doctor paused and thought about it. He looked over Hirth, over his formerly-crisp uniform and his white cap. And then his eyes fell on the leather jacket laid overtop that was his badge of rank. And instantly, the Doctor knew exactly what he wanted.

“Give me your jacket,” he said. “It’s my size an’ I think it’d look good on me. Better than it does on you, that’s for sure. Now hand it over, an’ then you can _get out of my sight.”_

Hirth stared at him like he was mad. The Doctor just smiled sweetly, offering the fallen captain a hand back to his feet.

He shrugged off the black leather coat slowly, still staring at the Doctor like he was insane, and handed it over. The Doctor took it, looking it over and admiring the battered black leather. It felt right, somehow. He slipped it on, smiling at the feel of it- heavy, and still warm from the human who’d been wearing it. It was slightly damp and smelled of seawater, but the TARDIS could sort that out quickly enough. It felt…

Perfect. Like a missing piece slotting into place. He felt strangely secure in the coat- like it was his, now.

“Alright then,” he said, gesturing at the ramp, “Captain Hirth? With all due respect, which is none by the way, **go fuck yourself.** Now _get off my ship.”_

Hirth scrambled towards the doors, grabbing his duffel on the way and tumbling outside. He looked a lot smaller and scrawnier without his leather jacket- like the Doctor had plucked all his feathers, or something.

Which just left one person.

“Vogel,” the Doctor said fondly, “Takes some guts to stand up to your superiors like that.”

Vogel nodded, looking at the Doctor with wide eyes. The young human had a good heart in him somewhere, and there was a temptation…

He could ask the kid to stay. To come with him. To be a companion. But…

But he had no home to safely return to. Nowhere to go, for now. The men who’d just gotten a very nasty surprise outside were his family. And here, he’d be safe- the Doctor had chosen this place specifically for that reason. There was hope for this boy yet. And after the war, Germany would need people like Vogel. People willing to question what they’d been taught. The Doctor could feel Vogel’s timeline stretching out ahead of him, a gleaming golden line- rebuilding his homeland, raising a family, making amends and atoning for what he’d unknowingly done.

The war would be over soon enough.

“You’re gonna hate me when you step out of those doors,” the Doctor said softly, watching as Vogel stopped. He’d taken a step, and was standing at the top of the ramp. The young man turned around, meeting the Doctor’s gaze. Blue on blue, locked as equals, not as a superior looking down on a new recruit.

Vogel looked at the floor and nodded.

“I thought as much. I didn’t think you’d take us to Berlin…But…you didn’t take us somewhere dangerous? Will we be alright?” he asked, biting his lip.

The Doctor nodded.

“You’ll be safe here. Very safe. The war won’t last forever, Vogel. I promise you that.”

The young man nodded. Questions swirled in his mind, and the Doctor could see him bursting to ask them, but…

“What’s your name?” the Doctor asked, “Your first name, I mean.”

“Friedrich,” he replied, “I’m Friedrich. And you...?”

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” he said with a smile, “That’s all I am, really.”

The young man turned, and the Doctor levered himself up to follow him out.

“You’ll do well,” he said, “Sorry about this. Hate me if you like, but it was the only place I could think of that’d keep you safe. And do me a favour, Friedrich. One thing. Can you do one thing for me?”

“Yes?” he replied, looking at the Doctor quizzically.

“Have a fantastic life.”

The young man nodded.

“I can do that.”

He stepped out of the TARDIS, and the Doctor leaned on the open door after him.

And smiled at the very large gun being pointed at his face.

“Sorry about this,” he said to the confused older man in a guard’s uniform, “Couldn’t think of a safe place to put the lot of ‘em. You understand, right?”

“Who are you!? Put your hands up and come out of that- that BOX, this instant!” the guard barked in English, and the Doctor chuckled. He took a sniff- the air was fresh and clean, and snowcapped mountain peaks spiralled high into a clear blue sky all around. Barbed wire fences towered tall into the trees, and there were all sorts of beige-painted buildings in the immediate vicinity, in long neat rows of houses and mess halls and guard towers.

“Nah,” the Doctor said, nodding at a very confused Vogel, “I did get the place right, yeah? Kananaskis POW camp? 1940? You lot in Canada, still sticking to the Geneva conventions, right? Hope so. You treat them well, you hear? They’ve had a stressful day.”

The man lowered his gun, just a little.

“What are you on about?! Come out of that box with your hands up! Are there any more in there?! How did you fit twenty-five men in that thing?!”

The Doctor winked. “Trade secret. Anyway, I’m off. Take care of yourself, Friedrich.”

Friedrich looked back at the Doctor with a slightly annoyed glare- hands up, the confused guards around him, watching the strange man retreat into his blasted blue box. 

The Doctor turned around and marched back into his TARDIS, letting the door slam closed behind him.

The Kananaskis POW camp in Alberta, Canada. Opened in 1939, housing prisoners long-term. Freezing cold winters and scorching hot summers, surrounded by mountains and guarded by veterans of the first World War, too old to enlist for the sequel. Six thousand miles from any fighting or danger, and like all the Canadian camps, it adhered rigidly to the Geneva conventions. The crew would be safe, well fed, and well cared for, right up to the end of the war.

The Doctor smiled. The timelines around the crew flared bright gold- spiralling into the future, all of them living long happy lives. Hopefully this time on Allied soil would do them all some good and break that programming the Nazis had instilled in them- the Doctor could only hope.

He rubbed the arm of his new jacket, smiling at the feel of the leather under his fingertips. A tangible reminder of a good deed, that. Something he could feel on his back that reminded him of a simple truth: that, ungrateful bastards or not, people who would have died had lived. Because of him. Because of what he’d done.

Saving lives.

Perhaps he really was the Doctor, still.

And he’d gotten a rockin’ coat in the bargain. The bad boy look…he could get used to that. Of course, it’d need some modifications, clean out the seawater, make the pockets transdimensional, that sort of thing. But that was an afternoon’s tinkering, easily sorted.

An alarm went off on the console, interrupting the Doctor’s musings. A mauve alert. Warp-shunt technology on Earth…2005…London.

“Right then!” he said, setting the dials, “Better sort that out, before it gets out of hand…”

The Doctor yanked the lever, and the TARDIS took off in hot pursuit.

**Author's Note:**

> The Kananaskis POW camp was a real place, opened in 1939. If you go there now, you can see one of the old guard towers, leftover as a firewatch station- it overlooks a lake, Barrier Lake, whose bottom was initially cleared out by POW labour (they were paid for their work and it was on a volunteer basis.) 
> 
> The U-boat in the story was, if you care, a type II U-boat with a crew of 25.
> 
> I tried very hard to accurately portray the Nazi ideology of Hirth in a sensitive way and must have rewritten his spiel about fifteen times. Hopefully it was alright. 
> 
> Finally: Hirth and Vogel's names are from an Allied propaganda film called 49th parallel, which I highly recommend for anyone who wants to enjoy two hours of period cinema. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts and leave a comment! I love all comments, and I really busted my ass on this one- a bit more historical, this. I edited the Christ out of it, far more than I usually do. Thanks for reading!


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